


Rain Check

by tenaya



Series: Be Careful What You Ask For [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 Cura Te Ipsum, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Missing Scene, episode s01e05 Judgement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's working relationship with his boss suffers a setback.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John slid into the booth across from Finch, noting that his appearance did not surprise him.  Somehow he must have observed Reese’s arrival.    “What’s good here?” John asked just to see how Finch would reply.</p>
<p>Finch looked up curtly and with thinly veiled hostility. “That won’t work, Mr. Reese.”</p>
<p>“What won’t?” he replied innocently.</p>
<p>“Your interrogation technique,” he said, dourly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain Check

**Author's Note:**

> I've warned for rape/non-con but it does not occur in this story. It does reference events that happened in the past to the sister of a character, and to events that occurred in the previous two stories of this series. I image the story can 98% stand by itself without needing to read the other two stories.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Megan. Come on, I hear it’s terrible.” John Reese leaned closer to Dr. Tillman’s ear and lowered his voice. “The guy you got tied up in the back of the van can wait.” He turned and headed for a booth, knowing she would follow. 

He waited until the coffee was served so there would be no further interruptions. The silence further unnerved her and her hands shook as she tried to pick up the coffee cup.

John stared at her, evaluating her resolve. The truth was he admired her, appreciated how she had turned her skills to another purpose. But he could see the stain of her guilt already starting to eat at her. “You’re smart, and you’ve been careful. You probably wouldn't get caught. But the truth is you’ll never really get away with it.”

“Do you know who he is? What he’s done?” She was strong, standing up to him. Determined.

John knew Benton had raped Megan’s sister in 1996. And here in the fall of 2011, Benton had eleven photos of his other conquests on his computer—all time stamped from this year. John thought of the fifteen years in between and how there were not any photos at all from that period. How in some hidden box or safety deposit box somewhere, there were dozens if not hundreds of photos of beautiful young women, their sweet, open expressions caught in that moment before their trust in other human beings was forever ruined. This wasn’t about Benton; John already knew what needed to be done about Benton. This was about saving Megan from a lifetime of guilt--though not regret. John could see Megan would not regret killing Benton. 

“I know all about Andrew Benton. I know all about you, Megan. I know you’re a damn good doctor. I know that you’ve spent years healing people.” He leaned closer. “And I know if you do this, if you murder this man in cold blood,” and there was the tell--she swallowed hard as he pinpointed the source of her unease: the pure premeditation of her plan. “It will kill you.”

“You told me that you lost someone; was that true? How can you sit there and tell me not to do something that you know in your heart, you would do, too.”

“Because unlike you, I know what happens when you take a life. You lose a part of yourself, not everything, just the part that matters the most.” He had killed so many and it had changed him. He didn't think it was due to the first man he’d killed, or the tenth, or the fiftieth. Maybe each one created a point of decay in his soul and then after years, it had left him hollow inside. All John knew was he was not the same man he was before he started killing.

Her expression sharpened at John’s small insight into himself. “Is that what happened to you?” 

John looked away and took a deep, calming breath. Apparently the good doctor was not averse to probing a wound, but this was not about him. “You don’t have to do this. You can turn around right now.”

“Mm nuh,” she said, shaking her head. She closed her eyes. “He’s seen me, seen my face.”

“Suppose I have a little talk with him? Trust me; it won’t matter. Give me the keys to your van, Megan.” He bowed his head as he held out his hand. This needed to be her decision, not something she felt coerced in to doing.

“Everything he’s done? I’m supposed to just hand you over the keys? He gets to walk free? And what do I get?” 

“You get a second chance. You get to let go. You get your life back,” he hissed. It was the one thing he’d give anything for and that he could never have. If only she knew the true value of the gift he was offering her.

“What does Gabrielle get?” 

Those words reveal this wasn't truly about vengeance but justice for her dead sister. Despite her thorough plan to commit murder, Megan had a lawful soul inside her. “She gets to keep her memory of you.” And that did it. Her face crumbled with grief, still raw even though her beloved sister had been lost to her years ago.

“I don’t get it,” she said, anguished. “Who are you? Why are you here?” 

“I already told you. Everybody needs someone to talk to.”

And with that, she surrendered and placed both her keys and her terrible burden into his hand. He squeezed her fingers, hoping his touch would give her some reassurance, some comfort. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

***

Reese drove north. It was still night, still enough hours of darkness for him to arrive at the kill zone and get Benton inside the house. Reese knew Benton had to die. He was a serial rapist, very experienced with a regular habit. He would not stop. He had a team of lawyers, also very experienced at helping him avoid any culpability for his many crimes. He was a cancer on society and Megan’s instincts were true; he was a malignant tumor that needed removal.

There had been one thing that deeply bothered him on the jobs he did with Kara Stanton. They were given the names of those that they were to kill but John never knew what they were guilty of. It seemed basic that every man should have the opportunity to defend themselves of crimes that resulted in their termination with extreme prejudice. He’d had to take it on faith that all those lives he had snuffed out were righteous kills. This time, John was in charge and he would give Benton a chance to speak up for himself. And unless he said something extraordinary, John would kill him, making use of the supplies Megan had gathered.

John knew Megan was a good person and that her decision to kill Benton was also sound. He would spare her from a lifetime of guilt by executing Benton and take that act to himself because his own soul was beyond redemption. 

It did make him wonder about Finch. He still wasn't sure about the brilliant, wealthy man in the bespoke suits who gave a deeper definition to the word ‘secretive.’ Was he a good man who had hired John to save the lives of some and to take the lives of others? Megan had a personal stake in what Benton had done, had seen her sister destroyed by Benton’s callous and brutish actions. Finch had no such stakes in the cases he handed to John. Could whatever Finch was making reparations for be so enormous that he felt the need to save any random life he learned was in danger? Or was he just playing at god, getting his thrills at setting his personal assassin on the hunt? Would he be flushed with power when he learned of Benton’s demise?

There were a couple of events that weighed the scale in favor of Finch. He had stood by Theresa when they were being hunted by a professional killer. They should have split up; Theresa could have moved faster to safety and Finch might have been overlooked. Reese recognized it would be hard to abandon a child who was in deadly peril. And Finch did place himself in the middle of an armed robbery to warn John that he and his team would be killed after the heist. At the time, Finch had been controlled and focused but John also thought he saw underlying fear. It would have been a rush for Finch to insert himself into a dangerous situation if that was what he was after, but he seemed only to take those risks when he had no other choice.

John’s phone rang and he tapped it to accept the call. 

“Reese? Where’s Dr. Tillman?” Finch’s voice sounded small and it had a slight quaver. Finch was outside his comfort zone.

“She’s fine. I have her van and Benton.”

There was a pause. “What are you gonna to do with him?” 

Finch hesitated with that question. Was it possible that Finch did not want to hear the answer, that there was only one thing to do with a man like Benton? Reese kept his answer vague.

“We’re gonna have a little talk.” The desire to know what was driving Finch grew stronger. He needed to know because if Finch was a good man, a man being pursued by his own ghosts. If so, then this job was John’s chance at redemption and he didn't want to screw it up. “Why do you do it, Finch? The machine, the numbers…all of it?” He could hear the harsh intensity in his voice, his incomprehension was exposed. 

“I told you Mr. Reese. I have my reasons,” Finch said, firmly. Gone was the quaver and Finch’s solid walls of secrecy had slammed shut. Reese ended the call.

***

It was almost midnight by the time Reese was back in the city. The toxic waste that was Benton’s life had been cleared and cleaned until no physical evidence of him remained. Reese parked the van in the ER parking lot and loitered outside the ambulance entrance for the few minutes until Megan spotted him. 

Hesitantly, she approached, wary yet needing to know what John would say. He handed her the keys. “He will never hurt another person again,” he said. 

She blinked once and nodded her head. “Thank you,” she said, the lines in her face smoothing away—not with relief that she was no long in danger of being exposed but with release, that the debt she felt she owed her sister was discharged. She was at peace. 

John walked away satisfied. It had been a good decision. His work this day had preserved the integrity of a good person and had prevented Benton from destroying yet another life with his death. 

***

Finch was staring blankly at his computer screen lost in thought, his hands at rest in front of the keyboard. He startled as Reese walked past his desk, his sharp gaze tracking John’s movement as he settled into a nearby chair. Silence settled heavily down around them, the stillness filled with tension. 

“No questions?” asked John, studying Finch’s expression. The smaller man was alert and on guard. John was struck suddenly by the thought that whatever trust had been built up between them was gone. Was Finch simply as averse to a premeditated killing as Megan had been? Was he afraid of being complicit in a murder? Or could he be afraid of what John might do next, that John had gone too far and was out of control?

“The Machine sent me another set of numbers after we last talked. It was Andrew Benton’s Social Security number,” Finch said, his voice sharp with disapproval and a pinch of accusation. 

Apparently the Machine could predict what John would do to a man like Benton and had told Finch that Benton’s life was in danger. Finch had not call John back or tried to stop him. Was that because Finch approved of John’s actions or because Finch thought John would not heed his orders to stop? Could Finch be afraid of him or afraid of his ability to control him? He certainly was now lacking the projected confidence he usually had around John.   
John tilted his head. “You knew who I was—and what sort of solutions I’d find to problems--when you hired me.” It wasn't really a question and Finch did not reply. The fact that Finch kept silent irritated John; he felt unmoored, not sure any more of what was expected of him. “Are you having second thoughts, Finch? Are you suddenly afraid of your pet dog’s bite?” he prodded.

Finch’s expression soured as he recognized his own words about Fusco thrown back at him and he kept his eyes locked on John’s for long seconds. Annoyed, he looked down and started typing on his keyboard. “The Machine gave me another number an hour ago. Meet me at the Lyric Diner at 7am. I’ll have the information you’ll need. Good night, Mr. Reese.”

John leaned forward. “Finch—“

“Goodnight, Mr. Reese!” Finch snapped. 

John stared, noting Finch’s widened eyes, that his body was tense and ready for action. He was as wary and on edge as a trapped animal. John leaned back in his chair, and then carefully stood up. Now was not the time to approach Finch. He left, feeling Finch’s intense gaze on his back until he left the room. 

Well, that was certainly a dismissal. Finch was afraid and he wanted to put distance between them. John thought about the payment structure he’d insisted upon but knew any pressure along those lines right now would go disastrously wrong now that Finch was throwing up walls as fast as he could. Rather than feeling powerful that his pet muscle had resorted to wet work, Finch was disturbed, uncertain. 

John finally had his answer about his boss’ motivations. 

Reese would need to find another way to permanently remove someone without killing them. Mexican prisons had the right parameters of being a hell-hole where a man could rot away for the rest of their life and being near impossible to escape. He would research that, find out what easily frameable offense would cause the Mexican authorities to ask no questions and to throw away the key.

As for their terms of payment agreement, John regretted it now. He wondered why had Finch ever agreed to it, but he feared it was because Finch was desperate to secure John’s abilities. He actually liked Finch, found him admirable and his air of mystery was an irresistible lure to John. He also felt a strong desire to protect him now and was undeniably fond of him. He had enjoyed having sex with Finch but was uneasy about its coercive overtones. It had started as a game but now he felt like a brute and that chafed at him. 

Well, that was that. As much as he now felt like pursuing a physical relationship for different reasons, there was no way he could after his past behaviors. If he could repair the damage to their trust, he vowed to concentrate on the numbers.

***

Reese arrived across the Lyric Diner a half hour early and was surprised to spot his employer already inside. He had hoped to spot which direction Finch came from but his boss already had been served his food and was placidly reading as he ate. Finch must have figured that John would arrive early and then he himself had arrived prior to that. Finch would be a challenging chess player.

John slid into the booth across from Finch, noting that his appearance did not surprise him. Somehow he must have observed Reese’s arrival. “What’s good here?” John asked just to see how Finch would reply.

Finch looked up curtly and with thinly veiled hostility. “That won’t work, Mr. Reese.”

“What won’t?” he replied innocently.

“Your interrogation technique,” he said, dourly.

“’What’s good here?’ It’s an innocent question.” Reese was surprised by just how aggressively and openly pugnacious Finch was behaving towards him. Perhaps Reese’s choice to kill Benton had rattled Finch more than John thought.

“No question is ever innocent from you. You’re trying to determine if I come here often. Armed with that knowledge you’ll try to figure out where I live.” 

Reese had thought Finch was enjoying the game of Reese trying to discover more about his employer. Finch had started out strong, easily able to outmaneuver Reese, but perhaps he was tiring of the chase and felt cornered. Perhaps he worried about what Reese would do if he ever did find out where Finch lived. It was significant that he had picked a public place to interact with Reese. He was trying to minimize the time he was alone with him. Was he scared of Reese now?

“You’re paranoid, Finch.”

“With good reason,” he said with conviction. 

“Maybe I just don’t know what’s good here so I’m asking a regular.” John was frustrated by the regression. The man in front of him was not bothering to hide his mistrust and was treating this conversation as warfare.

Finch placed enough bills on the table to cover his meal with tip and slid a menu in front of John. He tapped it. “Enjoy your meal, Mr. Reese,” he said with finality. 

Reese couldn't help but smile as he watched Finch retreat. Finch’s attempt at avoiding John’s surveillance was type of challenge that caused John’s heartbeat to quicken. Finch had to know that, even though he now wasn't happy about being a target to John. Maybe Finch now realized that he’d bitten off more than he could chew in choosing John as his minion. 

John figured Finch wouldn't have been so defensive unless he did come here often and wanted to minimize the info Reese could gather from that. He opened the menu looking to find whether the diner was a greasy spoon that offered comfort food tastes learned as a child from a poor family or one of those quasi-gourmet themed places that catered to the more refined palette. Instead he found a photo of a middle aged man, distinguished yet determined: Judge Samuel Gates.

***

“I can’t be there in time if I’m getting bad information,” Reese snapped. He was angry and while he normally kept all emotions carefully suppressed, the gunshot wound to his shoulder hurt and that, plus his frustration at not being able to save the boy made him want to use his anger to do something, anything! He strode into Finch’s work room, buttoning up a fresh shirt over his bandaged shoulder.

Finch hurried after him. “The machine did not send us the wrong number. If it said Judge Gates is in danger then he is.” Finch was agitated, trying hard to defend the Machine.

“Tell that to his son,” Reese growled.

“The kidnapping must connect,” Finch hurried to explain. “It could be the first step in a larger plot that ends with the Judge dead. We can still put a stop to it, all of it but first we need a plan.”

What did he want John to do? Sit around and wait until his Machine found another connection? From Reese’s experience, he knew you had to make your own leads. “I have a plan. Find Sam. The man just lost his wife. I won’t let him wind up alone.” As he stalked from the room, he held his gun up and racked the slide. 

This case was completely black and white. Save the Judge, save his son. Take out the kidnappers and killers. Even good people would agree that these choices, these decisions were the right ones.

***

Reese slid into a seat opposite Finch in the Lyric Diner. The judge and his son had been saved but it had been a near thing with everyone standing in the open, exposed while bullets flew around them. Clean up had been easy, though. With no secrets to hide and the cops eager to put them away, Reese left Angela Markam, Koska and the rest of their gang tied up and surrounded by over a million dollars from their money laundering scheme. Reese had just come from meeting Judge Gates in the park. Normally he couldn’t afford the luxury of sentiment, but it eased the tightness in his chest to see young Sam playing ball with his father.

“What did he say?” Finch was still reading his book, the remains of his lunch scattered in front of him.

“That we don’t need to worry. He might even help us someday,” Reese said, his voice flat as he remembered the Judge’s words. A man as such as Gates, dedicated to the law and justice could not make any promises of help, but Reese could see the grateful father staring him in the eye and knew Reese’s help would not be forgotten.

“I was listening to your conversation Mr. Reese.” Finch said drily, with some contempt at what he must have thought was a bald lie.

“I was reading between the lines.”

Finch wiped his lips with the napkin and tossed it down. He picked up his book. “I suppose time will tell which one of us is right.” He shifted his weight as he started to leave.

“Thank you.” Reese blurted out. Finch was still acting distant with him. It was time for Reese to make some concessions, the first of which was the admission that he was grateful to Finch. He was saving lives now. He could be in time to stop the incredible pain that destroyed someone when they lost a loved one. It was important that Finch know this, know how important it was to him. 

Finch paused and intently searched John’s face. His statement obviously had come out of the blue and for a man who had his opponent’s moves mapped out well in advance, it was pretty unsettling for Finch. “I beg your pardon?”

John blinked and brought his eyes up to stare directly into Finch’s. “For giving me a job.” He had been shot on this case and during the last desperate confrontation, he’d put his life against three deadly gangsters to save a boy and his father. It was dangerous work, yes, but it had given him a deep sense of satisfaction and purpose that he hadn't felt in years. He thought he’d never feel this way again.

Finch thought for a long moment and John saw the instant when Finch relented. His words of simple gratitude had been a key that unlocked Finch’s need to keep a protective wall against Reese. John had been downgraded as a possible threat. Finch set a menu in front of John. “Try the Eggs Benedict, Mr. Reese. I've had them many times.”

As Finch left, John opened the menu and found no assignment, no mysterious clues. The menu was an olive branch, an overt gesture of trust. 

John smiled, his first genuine smile in years. He had been measured and found worthy of being trusted by the most secretive man he had ever met. Finch was driven to help people and while John still did not know what caused him to need to devote his life to this pursuit, John was grateful to have been given the chance to help, to make Finch’s need into a reality. 

In turn, Finch had been scrutinized by John and had been assessed as a good man who was making his corner of the world a better place. That was all John needed. 

He knew then that he was Finch’s man and that he’d do anything for him.


End file.
